


In Which Derek Finds Comfort In An Unlikely Person

by Chittychittyletsbang



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: SO, um so the sterek in this is like REALLY LIGHT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chittychittyletsbang/pseuds/Chittychittyletsbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek planned on mourning the anniversary of his family's death in peace and quiet, but a certain human has different plans for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Derek Finds Comfort In An Unlikely Person

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not sure WHEN exactly the fire happened, but I'm going to just say early May? I tried to find the date, to no avail, so if you know, then I guess try to ignore that little error? :') AND ALSO um this might be a little OOC, I'm not sure, I tried to keep it in character as much as possible, but idfk. SO. Sorry for that if I was out of character. Any Sterek is really light in this. Thanks for reading, though!

This day, out of every day of the year, is the dullest, the dimmest, of all. Derek sits alone on the eleventh step of the staircase of his once grand, now weak, home, reluctantly reliving that day. His memories are scattered, and by now, Derek is mostly numb to the pain that really should be crushing him. Mostly. He lets his head fall into his hands, and for a moment, it is silent, save for the creaking, the whimpering, of the house. Its almost as if the house is mourning with him.   
  
Derek's ears perk up at a quiet tune, distant but audible. There's a bass. Derek can't make out the words.  
  
Tires crunch against gravel.  
  
Derek rises slowly, eyes cautious, as the music grows louder, and the familiar rumble of Stiles Stilinski's Jeep becomes more pronounced. The boy drives into view, and parks in front of his house. He slides out, making the grocery bag in his hands rustle in protest. "Yo, Derek!" Stiles yells, even though he doesn't have to yell for Derek to hear. Stiles stops in front of the door, holding the bag up. "I brought beer." 

  
Derek presses his lips together. He knows that, if he waits long enough, Stiles will state his reason for being here so spontaneously. 

  
He doesn't have to wait long; Stiles shuffles his feet. "I know I'm not your favorite person, but I figured... I had some beer lying around, you live close, why not share it? Drink with a buddy, right? If you drink. I mean... I assumed you did. Not that you- look like an alcoholic, or anything. Not really." Derek thinks Stiles is seriously overestimating how well the door could protect Stiles against Derek and he doesn't bother to lie and protest his rank as 'buddy' as he approaches the door slowly. He hears Stiles sigh, and the bag rustles again- Stiles is fidgeting. He does that a lot, Derek notices. Actually, there are a lot of things about Stiles that Derek isn't aware he notices.

  
There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, Derek thinks Stiles is going to leave, thinks he's going to get back in his Jeep and drive home, and he's oddly bothered by the thought. Stiles says, "Listen, Derek, I know that... Today's not a good day for you. Just thought you'd maybe like some company. I always like to be around people on the day my mom died. It makes it... bearable." _Pause_. "As bearable as it can get."  
  
Derek knows he should say something. "Go away," maybe, or "you always know what to say- its abnormal." or something, _anything_ , but he can't, can't open his mouth, can't form words. Its almost like his breath has been stolen from him, leaving him trying to breathe quietly, even though Stiles -being human- wouldn't be able to really hear his breathing anyway.  
  
"I don't know if I can help, but I'd like to try. If you'll let me." Stiles plows on through the lack of response, and Derek silently appreciates his effort, his determination. "I know what it's like to lose someone."   
  
"Not your entire family." Somebody says, and- fuck, Derek realizes it's him. But now seems to be the exact opposite of before, and suddenly, Derek can't _stop_ talking, can't keep quiet, can't shut up, God, please, just _shut up_. "Not your parents, and relatives. Not even your _sister_. The only fucking person you had left."   
  
The other side of the door is quiet, and Derek berates himself. He's never let it bother him this much, not even on this same day in past years. He'd sit in silence, and allow himself to breathe in, out, in, out, mindlessly, thoughtlessly, until he became tired from doing absolutely nothing on a day that changed absolutely everything.   
  
"Derek," Stiles says, finally, "can I come in?"   
  
Some unknown force raises Derek's hand and turns the knob, nudging the door open. He retreats back, finding his spot on the staircase, and watches through a sharp gaze as Stiles closes the door behind him. Stiles shifts through the bag, and tosses a can of beer to Derek.   
  
They sip in silence for a moment before Stiles sits cross-legged on the floor, glancing around thoughftully. "Was it a nice house? Before the fire?" He doesn't bother with gentle words that avoid possible offense. No, Stiles knows Derek doesn't need that.  
  
"It was brilliant," Derek says. His lips form more words, and he breathes to fill the spaces, without his brain's permission. "My mother's prized possession."   
  
"What was your mom like?"   
  
Under different circumstances, Derek might retort with, "Motherly," or some other snarky ass response, but now, he's too emotionally tired. He's too exhausted from trying not to think about the disaster to prevent himself from talking about it.  
  
"Elegant," Derek replies, softly, "she was very elegant. Polite, gentle... quiet." His lips press together tightly as he remembers her grace, her smiles, the way she curled tufts of his hair around her finger and crooned at him, despite his protests that he was almost an adult, legally, and didn't need her coddling.   
  
He needed it.  
  
He hears Stiles breathe, "Your dad... what about him?"  
  
Derek almost laughs. "Humble. He never let a compliment go to his head." No, his father never did seem to inflate at a few pretty words. His father was a man of action, a man of great purpose. Derek remembers his jokes, his hearty laugh. He misses it. Misses him.

  
He takes a shakey breath and glances back up at Stiles, who is leaning forward almost eagerly. His eyes are warm, and a smile is playing on his lips. "I'll bet you loved her a lot."  
  
Derek doesn't want to revisit this. Doesn't want to think that everything they're saying is past tense, that he'll never be able to utter the words "I love you," to his parents again, not personally. He can always go down to the cemetary and utter cold words to damp tombstones, but what good would that do? A few shed tears and a heavy heart.   
  
His voice is surprisingly steady and sure when he says, "I loved them."   
  
Stiles nods, looking down. The smile is still there, but it's dimmed, and Derek recognizes that expression. It's Stiles' empathy expression. Derek's seen it often, but never directed towards him.   
  
"And your mother?" Derek asks quietly, almost unsure. Which is odd, because he's Derek Hale, he's always sure. Well, maybe not always.  
  
Stiles starts, and bites his lip. "Well, you show me yours, I show you mine, right?" He mumbles, and Derek thinks it's a weird catchphrase to use. Weirdly relative. "She was..." He struggles for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I mean, it's too hard to describe how great she was. You know, when something's so perfect and wonderful that you can't really describe it, because no matter what you say, you feel like its still not enough?" Stiles laughs lightly. "She was like that. She'd bake your favorite when you were down -she always knew when I was down, I don't know how- and every time she spoke, it made my day that much better." His laughter dies down a little, and he sighs, a smile laced with nostalgia adorning his face.  
  
Derek doesn't know what to say. He settles for silence.   
  
Stiles takes a deep, sudden breath as if he's about to belt out a Whiteney Houstin song, and says, "I may not have lost my parents, and relatives, and sister, but I've lost someone I love, and, Derek, man... There's no other feeling for it. Just generally sadness, and some anger, and some guilt. I know what it feels like to think 'I'm never going to see them smile again. They're not coming back.'" Stiles pauses, and begins to stand. He approaches Derek, who stiffens as Stiles puts a hand on his shoulder. "I can relate. Maybe I'm not the first person you'll think of when you get all melancholy about this-" Stiles gestures around him, at the house,"-but just- know I'm here, okay? And I've got two big ears that were made for listening. You hear me, wolf man?"   
  
Derek doesn't know what to make of the situation, honestly. There's relief, there's confusion, there's doubt... Despite his emotions, Derek's head nods once, a small confirmation, and Stiles smiles, before turning and hopping back down the stairs.  
  
"So hey, I'm gonna leave this beer here. That alright with you?" Stiles chirps, back to his usual hyperactive spunk.  
  
"No." Derek replies halfheartedly.  
  
"Awesome, you and the beer have fun, now!" Stiles says as he flits out the door and crosses the yard to his jeep. Derek's gaze doesn't lift from the floor as Stiles rumbles away, fading into eventual silence, accompanied by creaks and moans from the Hale residence.   
  
Derek descends the staircase and lifts the bag up, bringing it into his kitchen. He drops the bag on the table, and the reciept finds its way out, fluttering to the ground. Picking it up, Derek examines the reciept. His lips quirk up. "'Had some beer lying around', did he?" Derek mumbles fondly, crumpling the freshly printed reciept and tossing it in the trash.   



End file.
